


If it means a lot to you || Peter B. Parker x Reader.

by bunnygirls



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting to Know Each Other, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV, Peter B. Parker - Freeform, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter is a Little Shit, Pre-Canon, Strangers to Lovers, both reader and peter need physical affection, hes going through a lot TM, peter is a grouch, slowburn but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27905935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnygirls/pseuds/bunnygirls
Summary: ꒰ Peter. B Parker ♡ Reader. ꒱ ゝ Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse.Moving to a new city can be nerve wracking at it’s best - especially when your new neighbor reveals himself to be a massive grump who seemingly wants nothing to do with you. Lonely and craving more of your interaction after his clearly difficult divorce, you find comfort in one another’s company. You come to learn there is much more to your not-so-average neighbour than what meets the naked eye.
Relationships: Peter B. Parker/Reader, Spider-Man / reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter one.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first time in… a very long time that I have had the courage to write anything and publish it, so yay to that! I really hope this fic is good, and that it’s worth the time spent reading ♡ I couldn’t help myself after recently watching Into The Spiderverse. I just love Peter B Parker so much, haha! I hope you guys like this too. (๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ ) First chapter is a tad short. Next ones will be longer!

The sweet smell of chocolate and maple spread through your new apartment, replacing the awful damp one you had walked into for the first time yesterday. It wasn’t at all perfect, but for the price you’d managed to snag this place for, you decided you could deal with having a few eight-legged roommates. Honestly, this was the best you could afford right now. At least once you had finished moving your furniture around and unpacking the stack of boxes piled ceiling high, it looked a little more like a place you could call a home rather than a dull, drafty prison cell. You felt better already!

Loud, shrill beeps and the strong scent of coca pulled you from your moment of success, having paused momentarily to admire the work you had done in just a few hours. You began to hum as you wiggled your fingers into the pair of pink oven mitts your grandmother had bought you as a parting gift, and removed the scalding tray from the oven, allowing them to sit for a moment before using a spatula to pile them onto a paper plate. Ah, perfect! The kitchen counter was topped with six whole plates of cookies - one for each door on the same floor your apartment was on.

A few of the cookies were a little misshapen, some bigger than others… but baking was your hobby, and thankfully not your job. You were sure, despite their imperfect appearance, that they would still go appreciated. Their crumbling edges and oval shape made them look even more homemade - it was clear you’d gone to some effort to impress your new neighbors. 

Having just moved to New York City, you had decided to expand your social circle, which was currently stuck at a disappointing zero. Classes didn’t start for a few days and you had been so busy unpacking that you had put off going to say hi to the other people stuck in this prison of a block. Well, now you had time, which meant you didn’t have an excuse to put it off. The entire accommodation was mostly made up of students and crackheads because of its cheap price, and accessibility from the city. 

You began with the first neighbor, the door directly opposite yours. Balancing the floppy plate in one hand, you managed to give three sharp knocks. A few moments passed before you heard someone mumbling and shifting on the other side of the door, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying. The handle began to turn, creaking the wood open ever so slightly. You were met with a tall, bed headed brunette who looked like he’d just crawled out of a pit. His amber eyes were circled with dark marks, from fighting or from lack of sleep you couldn’t tell. His white shirt was horribly stained. 

“I don’t want any girl scout cookies, or whatever it is you’re selling.” He began, causing your smile to falter ever so slightly. You tried to lighten the tension you felt setting in by giggling at the comment, shaking your head. 

“I’m actually your new neighbor.” You corrected, noticing he was shuffling to close the door. The man paused, letting out a hum that you weren't sure was a positive reaction. His tired eyes trailed down your body, then back up to your own as he reached forward to pick up a cookie from the plate and take a bite. You tried your best not to judge your new neighbor, both for his attitude so far and his dirty clothes. 

The door inched open a little wider, leaving him in full view and better visible now that the light from the hallway could shine on his face. The greying squinted as if it hurt. He continued his slow chewing, looking down at you while you introduced yourself properly, explaining that you had just moved up here for college. You were barely able to finish before he sucked the chocolate smeared over his fingertips loudly and held up his damp hand. 

“Look, kid.” He began, moving to lean against the doorway. You could see past him now, nothing but pizza boxes and empty beer bottles littering the floor. The moment you saw a ripped-open condom packet, your eyes snapped back to meet his. “You’re in New York City, not everyone here is exactly friendly.” He scoffed, reaching for the rest of the plate. He slipped another cookie whole into his mouth and you couldn't stop your expression shifting to one of concern and disgust at how he was stuffing it into his face like he hadn’t eaten in days. He continued, muffled by the now less than appetizing treat that had become a mere pile of crumbling mush. “It’s best you just uh, leave the neighbors alone. Yeah?”

Before you could think of a response, the door was slammed in your face. You stood in the hallway under the unflattering yellow light, speechless at the interaction you just had. Was this guy for real? Well, it seemed like it would be wise to not bother him again. He seemed pretty content living his life of pizza and booze and… well, whatever else he got up to. 

“Not everyone here is friendly!” You mimicked almost silently at the door, pulling a face as though it would offend him if he knew. As if you were going to listen to this guy after you had gone to the effort of making every damn neighbor an introductory gift. You were just getting started!

You continued on your cookie delivering journey around the floor surrounding your apartment. Three of the neighbors had taken the free plate of cookies yet seemed to have no interest in actually talking to you, one neighbor didn’t even answer their door… which left one more. You crossed your fingers under the plate, raising your hand to give a knock. 

A loud shout of triumph made you jump, almost throwing the cookies everywhere - of course all evidence would have pointed to you. Luckily, you managed to regain your posture… You could hear artificial gunfire coming from whatever console the person was playing on, and them speaking to someone. However, you couldn't hear the other reply. Against all odds, you gave a few meek knocks, though you assumed that they either couldn't hear you, or just didn't care enough to leave their game and answer. 

Well, at least you had some cookies for yourself, right? That was a good thing. More cookies for you. 

Disappointed by your grouchy neighbors who wanted nothing to do with you, you made your way back to your apartment. Your mind wandered back to the man who lived directly opposite, then one by one to each of the neighbors that you had met. Was this really to be your new life? The optimism you felt less than an hour ago was beginning to subside as disdain washed over you. 

“No.” You said aloud, closing the door of your apartment and pressing your back against it. “I’m not going to lose hope on my first day. I can’t.” You reminded yourself, a smile of determination crossing your features.


	2. Chapter two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first day at work is a mess, and you end up being saved by a certain web slinging vigilante. However, you didn't need the added stress...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, a second chapter! Whoo! And as promised, longer than the first c: I’m pretty excited about this fic - Peter B. is so fun to write for LOL. Feedback is much appreciated, guys! I’d love to know how you enjoy this chapter~ (๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )  
> Also, a care warning for attempted sexual assault!

You let out a quiet yawn from behind your hand, the remnants of this afternoon's nap still lingering in your mind. You couldn’t remember the dream you had, all you knew was that it was stressful and shocking enough to rip you out of your slumber just before your alarm began to chime. You stood, waiting for the elevator doors to close, a feeling of uncertainty tugging at your stomach as something above you clanked loudly. The metal box itself was uncomfortably small and smelled like piss - You had contemplated taking the stairs, but being on the 17th floor, you weren't sure it was such a good idea. They probably also smelled just as bad, and you were more than sure you would become witness to situations you didn't really want to associate with. 

“Hold the door!” A voice rang down the hall as the elevator’s mechanisms jerked into actions, the doors beginning to slide shut. Without a second thought, you threw your arm between the doors, hoping they had some kind of sensor that would send them jittering back open and give the other person some time to reach the mechanical piss box. 

The brunette shuffled himself past the closing doors that didn’t allow much space for entrance with your arm thrust between with unexpected grace, like this was something he had done often. Breathing a sigh of relief as he settled to your left, you both turned to face each other - he made no effort to hide the dramatic eye roll and disgusted expression as he processed who he was in the elevator with. You wrinkled your nose a little, your brows knitted together - what was this guy's problem? A sigh, you turned back to facing forwards, the distorted reflection from the elevators doors shining back at you. You could see him too, and the way his mouth twitched like he was about to speak, but didn’t. It was painfully quiet... save for the squeaks and clunks from the lift. Being so old, and probably unsafe, each noise made your entire body tense up like it was about to go crashing down the chute. 

“You know, Scout, we aren’t going to drop to our doom. I’ve taken the elevator enough and I’m still here. The weirdos in central park are probably more dangerous than this thing.” His voice came, less groggy than yesterday. You allowed your eyes to flicker to your left once more, noticing he was also avoiding eye contact with you and was instead watching your reflection for a reaction. Was your fear that obvious? 

“I’d have rather taken the stairs.” You grumbled in response, though you could barely get your voice louder than a mumble. He finally turned to look at you with his brows raised, shaking his head. 

“You really don’t wanna do that.”

He sounded like he’d had a bad experience with the stairs. Either you were correct in your assumption that some dodgy business went on in the noise-muffling stone stairwell that spiralled down the back of the building, or he was very lazy. Perhaps both? The tension rose once again with the awkward silence - you still had 13 more floors to go. 13 more floors to make your way down with the grouch from yesterday practically elbow to elbow with you. 

“Besides, this baby’s perfectly safe.” His hands delved into the pockets of his dirty green trench coat. You side-eyed him once more, this time he did the same back to you. There was something about the look he was giving you; a playful smirk, that just didn't feel right. 

He jumped up, landing with a muffled thud that caused the elevator the shriek even louder than you did - it stopped in its tracks immediately. You felt another wave of panic wash over you as the lift’s movements subsided to a sudden halt. Both of you stood perfectly still, eyes wide with fear. You were so certain this thing was about to plummet to the basement and kill both of you because of this idiot's actions. It jerked harshly, making you both lose some balance, but slowly began to descend once more at its previous snail pace. A sigh of relief left your mouth, your knuckles white around the strap of your tote from the adrenaline rush. 

“See?” He mused, a stupid grin playing on his face as though he had just won a bet. Had he not almost killed you, you may have found it to be somewhat charming. A scowl crossed your features, exasperated already with this man and his childish mood swings. 

The brunette nodded towards the logo on your work uniform, cocking a brow as if questioning you about it. You had taken up a weekend job as a bartender to get some extra cash - living in New York wasn’t exactly cheap. It was a decently busy bar and the pay was great, the only downside was that it was in a horrible area. You had heard stories from people who had been mugged, followed home, and worse. It was only a short walk from the area back into the main city - which was a little safer, since it was more public and better lit. People tended to be a little more hesitant to pull those kinds of stunts in front of a crowd. 

The elevator was nearing the ground floor now. Just a little more to go. 

“Didn’t take you for a barmaid.” He commented. What was that even supposed to mean? You cocked a brow right back at him, your disapproval clear on your features. He snorted at your expression. You felt your eyes roll. What a creep. Yesterday he was telling you to leave him alone, now he was trying to make conversation with you? Even the moment he stepped into the elevator he looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. Maybe he was struggling with something… Once again, you attempted to keep your judgement at bay, even though he was making it difficult not to. 

The elevator halted once more, shaking and staggering as it chimed a small melody, signalling you had reached the ground floor. It felt like you had been stuck in the warm, piss-scented box forever. The doors shook before releasing, the scent of the lobby, though not much better, seemed like a breath of fresh air! As you made your way to the main doors, you noticed him walking beside you. 

“So,” It was your turn to break the silence, a forced smile playing on your lips. “I didn’t catch your name yesterday when you slammed the door in my face.” 

You watched him shift in the coat that was a little too big, a hand brushing the back of his neck awkwardly. Could it be that he felt guilty about the way he had treated you? You felt your sour attitude crumble a little bit as you watched his smug face contort into one of discomfort and regret. 

“Peter. Peter B. Parker.” His hand extended out to you, offering up a handshake, but not an apology for his actions. As grubby as this man looked, even in a shirt that wasn’t stained, you didn't trust a man who wore grey sweatpants outside with confidence. Against your better judgement, you took his hand and gave it a firm shake. 

“Well it’s nice to finally meet you Peter, Peter B. Parker.” You joked, noticing the slight scoff he gave at your corny, definitely overused joke. You felt a little better today, the hope that had been crushed yesterday now rising once again in your chest - until you were grounded with the reality that perhaps he had finished the maple chocolate cookies, and was seeking more sweet treats. You decided to press on the subject, finding yourself curious. “How did you enjoy the cookies I made?” 

“The cookies? Oh, they were really great.” He hummed, pausing as he noticed you turning to walk down one of the winding paths to the left while his body turned to the right. Ah, it seemed you guys wouldn’t be heading the same way. You noticed the pause, and offered him a smile. 

“I’m glad. Maybe I’ll see you around, Peter.” 

The two of you went your separate ways, you towards the city to take a short cut you had noticed when planning your route to work, and him heading towards whatever it was that had sent him running for the elevator like his life depended on it. Come to think of it, he must have been a fast runner - he was right at the other end of the hall when he shouted for the door to be held. 

The walk to work was pretty long so you were glad you’d set off early - it meant you had time to grab a bite of something to eat before you were surrounded by drunk people, coke addicts and creepy men who wanted to snag your phone number from you. A little bit of flirting never went amiss at a bar though - the more you interacted with the customers, the more likely it would be that they would tip well. You were also excited to meet you co-workers, wondering if there would be anyone close to your own age that you could make friends with.

To your luck, there was. A girl named Amelia, meek as a dormouse when you first introduced yourself, however your extroverted attitude seemed to bring her out of her shell. Hearing you had just moved to New York, she was curious to hear all about it, and you didn’t spare her the details. You told her all about the flight, how you’d witnessed the biggest spider you had ever seen crawling around in your bathtub, and the two interactions you had with your potentially not SO grouchy neighbor, Peter B. Parker. The perky blonde looked so shocked to hear of your eventful few days, however she clearly found all of it pretty amusing! You were glad that you were expanding, meeting new people. Maybe this wasn’t the wrong decision after all, you had this all under control. 

The rest of work was a total drag, only a few customers had tipped at all - let alone anything worth while. Your back was aching, your feet hurt and even though you had a long nap in the afternoon, you hadn't ever felt more drained. Probably no thanks to the dream you still couldn’t remember… Amelia had left a few hours before your shift was up, leaving you and some older coworkers alone. None of them clicked with you the same way she had. They didn’t even seem to talk to each other unless it was necessary. You were glad when the last man at the bar finished the dregs that sat in the pint glass, throwing a few bills down onto the countertop before wobbling his way out. Collecting it up, you were thankful to see that he had in fact tipped you. 

Home time… what a joy. The mere thought of crawling into a hot shower brought butterflies to your stomach. You smelled like sweat and alcohol, not the most pleasant mix. 

The cold air of the night nibbled at your exposed flesh as you pushed the back doors open - unable to use the front as they were locked as soon as the last person left. It was dark around the back of the bar, if not for the single street lamp, you wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. It made you walk faster, arms wrapping around your body to try and protect your arms from Jack Frost’s wintery bite. 

The way you had come looked much spookier at night, but it cut a good 15 minutes off of your walk home… you hadn't brought a jacket with you, you didn’t think you'd need one, and you were so sore from the long shift. You just wanted to get home. Determined, you picked up your pace once more and headed straight for the back street that connected this part of town to the central part of the city. 

Your footsteps hitting the ground was the only thing you could hear. Even the stillness of your apartment wasn’t anywhere near as unsettling at his. There were no cars zooming past, no muffled conversations from strangers… it was just you. Like you were the only person left on the Earth, and everyone else had mysteriously disappeared.

You kept your eyes on the ground, as cold as you were, regretting your decision to go this way. Something caught your eye, a flicker of someone else’s shadow behind you as you passed under the yellow beams of the streetlight. Before you could turn around to look behind you, your wrist was grabbed vice tight, your torso being forced up against the freezing, damp brick wall of a vacant building. You opened your mouth in a scream, desperately throwing around your free arm in hopes of hitting something, anything, but it was grabbed and held behind you with the same hand that restrained your other. 

“Shh…” A raspy voice cooed into your ear as a pathetic sob left your mouth rather than the scream you willed for. “I ain’t gonna hurt ‘ya, not if ‘ya cooperate with me.” His foot slid between yours, kicking them apart as his free hand fumbled with the button on your pants. You were frozen, both from fear and from the glacial bricks that you were pressed against. Try as you might, your hands were held firmly in place, and the cold was only limiting your movement further. 

“Hey!” Another voice called from behind the pair of you. You felt his hand stop on your pants, your forehead pressed against the rough surface of the building. You could barely support your own head right now. You felt the man let go, your eyes squeezed shut snapping open, glancing to the side you could see the man from the bar running back down the way you presumed he had followed you. Your breathing was laboured. 

“Hey,” the voice came again, this time softer. You were still tense, snapping your neck to look at the tall figure clad in red and blue. Spider-Man? You felt your eyes widen in disbelief - of course you knew who he was, everybody did… but you didn’t expect to ever be on the end of one of his rescues. “Are you alright? I’m here to help you. Did he do anything? Are you hurt?” The hero questioned, barely giving you a chance to process the question before shooting another one at you. He neared you slowly, your freezing body left trembling. Were you hurt? Were you okay? You weren’t sure.

“I’m not hurt…” You whispered, finally peeling your abdomen from the building, turning to face the masked man that had saved you. He nodded, pausing a few inches away as not to frighten you further.

“We should probably get you home. Don’t you know the winter is usually cold?” Spider-Man quipped. You let out a breathy laugh instinctively, though you weren’t sure whether it was at his comment or at the disbelief you felt at being saved by the vigilante. “Where do you live? I’ll take you.”

“Westpark…” You trailed off again, noticing the slight tilt of his head. “The block buildings, I live in the middle one.” You finished. He offered an arm to you, pulling you tight into his side with one arm tight around your waist to keep you secure. You could feel his body heat through his spandex suit, immediately allowing your head to loll on his shoulder, your arms curling into his chest to try saviour the warmth. He smelled of dirt and black, like someone who had been outside way too long. It was nice to know that he wasn’t completely perfect… 

Before you knew it, you were flying over the city, not daring to open your eyes and take in the lights of New York. You’d seen and experienced enough for one night - You wanted nothing more than to go home, and go to bed. Swinging from a giant spider web was much faster than walking, you had come to find. 

He placed you down gently outside the glass main doors, seemingly hesitant to leave but you reaffirmed you were fine from here. This building was packed - while it might be packed with antisocial people, you were sure they would be curious enough to open their door if they heard someone shouting that there was a fire in the building. He gave you a two-finger salute before swinging off into the darkness, up and over another building. 

As you turned to enter the building, you caught sight of your reflection staring back at you. Your hair was a mess, mascara and tear trails stained your cheeks and your pants were still unbuttoned. You did them back up quickly, never having found yourself more glad to be walking into the warmth of your apartment complex - as drab as it was, you were just glad to be home. Your eyes lingered on the “staircase” sign above the door, but you felt much safer taking the elevator tonight, no matter how much it squeaked and squealed. 

The metal doors closed once you were inside, once again trapping you with the putrid smell. As soon as you were out of sight, you felt your eyes brimming with tears, managing to press the right button before allowing yourself to have a little breakdown in the elevator, the night's events playing out in your head as you dry-heaved and wiped at your face with your fingers.

The doors opened once again.

You reached into your bag, thankful he hadn’t run off with it, and pulled out the key to your apartment. Your footsteps echoed through the hall, a sight leaving your lips.

CRASH. 

A loud bang, followed by a loud cry rattled through Peter’s apartment. You lingered in the middle of the hallway, between your door and his. Part of you wanted to check to see if he was alright… but it was late, you could barely hold it together, and you were in no position to console him tonight. You slid your key into the door - it stopped half way, refusing to be pushed in any further, or to turn either way. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” You cried, bursting into tears once again on the spot. You kicked the door as hard as you could. 

“Gee, what’d the door ever do to you?” Peter’s voice asked from behind you, whipping around to face him. His smile dropped when he saw the state you were in. “Uh… Maybe don’t kick the door. It tends to hurt.” He joked in an attempt to lighten the mood, only to be met with a blank expression. 

You’d never felt more enraged, turning away from him and aggressively wiggling the key in the lock. It wouldn’t budge. Peter closed in behind you, taking your wrist gently in his hand, noticing the dark bruises that stained them, and the way you were quick to snatch it away from his grasp. He didn’t ask about it.

“Hey,” He shuffled you out of the way with his body, messing with the key in the lock before shoving his shoulder against it at full force. “If you want to talk about it, I’m right across the hall.” 

The door made a snapping sound, but it creaked open. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not even waiting to hear his response before you kicked the door shut right in his face. 

Tonight was a mess, it was awful, and any shred of hope you’d had left was gone. Destroyed, taken from you. A shower did little to ease your pain, physical or emotional, cutting it short so you could crawl into bed. 

Like a child you curled under the covers, snivelling and whimpering into your knees as sleep overtook your entire being. You were too tired, too weak to fight your eyelids that were closing themselves.


	3. Chapter three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a traumatic night, you decide to take up Peter's advice about opening up to him... whether the offer was sincere or not. You find an excuse to see your neighbor and things get weird, however seemingly end on a happy ( yet odd ) note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lack of update, life has been hectic right now! Anyway, this chapter was super fun to write and I'm excited to write the next one (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑ I hope everyone is excited to read it! I love it when you guys comment your thoughts, so please do! Let me know how I'm doing!

Everything ached as your eyes forced themselves open. You had passed out pretty hard after last night's traumatic events, only the shadows of the trauma playing out in the forefront of your mind as you managed to grab a few hours of sleep. You’d been awake for a while behind your closed eyelids, for how long though you couldn’t recall. Since it was now 4:30 PM, you assumed it had been a while. You just wanted to lay in bed and rot the rest of the day away without being disturbed… Your neighbors had a different idea though, a baby cried and screamed at the top of it’s lungs while it’s mother desperately tried to shush it and lull it back to sleep. The baby didn’t sound like it was going to quiet down anytime soon… 

A groan erupted from your throat as you rolled over, sandwiching your head between the thin feather pillows. They did little to block out the squawks from the demon child next door. Defeated, you sat up in bed and threw the pillows back behind you against the headboard. Breakfast was out of the question, your eyelids were still heavy and your stomach was twisted in knots… The very thought of eating made you feel sick to your stomach. Even though your stomach refused to entertain the idea of eating, you couldn't think of anything other to do than to cook… It wasn’t like you had any friends to hang out with, or even anyone to vent to about what happened last night - which kept buzzing around in the back of your skull. 

The feeling of his hand gripping both of yours with brute strength, the smell of alcohol on his warm breath made your stomach plummet - frozen in place at your kitchen counter, still in your shorts and tank top. One sock on, one still probably lost in your bed. You couldn’t focus on how cold your apartment was, courtesy of winter in New York, only how he had told you to be compliant with his lewd demands.

“Hey… If you want to talk about it, I’m right across the hall.” 

Your neighbors' words echoed in your mind, momentarily pushing aside the voice of the stranger from the bar. Did you want to talk about it? No, not really, but it was clear that holding it in was only going to make the situation eat away at you. You had a million things to worry about right now without this, the added stress was already making you feel like you were going to combust. You had only been awake for all of 40 minutes. Your eyes pulled away from your hands balled into fists on the kitchen counter and lingered on the door - how would you even bring up to Peter that you wanted to talk about it but had no one to confide in? Would it be rude to point out that he was only your first choice by default of having nobody else? Yes, probably. It wasn’t something you’d like to hear, so you didn’t imagine your neighbor would either.

You wracked your brain for some excuse to go over there, something to use to get you face to face with him once more. You mentally went over the conversation you had with him in the elevator yesterday, trying to think of anything that could send you across the hall to his apartment. 

He had mentioned your cookies were good… that was it! You could take over another baked treat as a thank you for last night. Not only would it show your gratitude, he would get something sweet ( Which you were assuming he was after, with his change of heart ) and the cherry on top - it would lead to the topic of last night without you having to awkwardly shift through waves of small-talk before piling your personal life issues on the poor guy. 

Looking through your cupboards, you weighed up your options - what kind of guy was he? Was he more of a cherry pie kind of guy with a taste for bittersweet, or was he more of a pastry guy who enjoyed the lesser things? He’d devoured your cookies fast enough, scoffing one right in front of your very eyes before sucking the crumbs loudly off of his fingers like it was the best he’d ever eaten. Playing it safe, you decided on a pastry - a chocolatine. It was a crumbly French pastry with chocolate spread through the centre… Baking a pie seemed too domestic for your taste. Especially to give to your neighbor. 

It took a few hours before you had finished up the pastry, taking some time to wipe away the remains of last night's tears and smudged makeup in the shower while it baked away in the oven. After doing your hair, a little bit of makeup and putting on some clothes that WEREN’T your work uniform (that still lay crumpled in a pile on the bathroom floor) you felt better. Or at least, you felt a little bit more human than you did two hours ago and less like a ghost floating in and out of reality. A shower had actually helped today, which would have been more useful last night when you desperately needed the comfort, but right now you needed the confidence to go over to see the neighbor who had offered his aid.

As you dragged the brush through your hair, the thought dawned on you. Could it be possible that this guy was simply trying to be nice to you, seeing you in such a state? That the offer was entirely empty and he didn’t really care what had happened? Blood ran cold in your veins as you stared at your reflection, pondering about how silly it was you were making an effort to go sit and make conversation with Peter for an hour just because you couldn’t stand the feeling of being alone.

How silly indeed to feel alone in New York city, to want to walk over to his apartment like you had been friends for years and simply start telling him all about your shitty co-workers with the exception of one and the awful events that had played out.

“Wow.” You muttered to yourself out loud, eyes still locked with your own reflection. “I MUST be fucking losing it already.” 

You tried to shrug off the intrusive thoughts and self doubt, returning to the kitchen once more, just before the oven began to scream at you that it was done baking the treat you had made. You placed the piping hot tray atop the countertop and got to cutting it into little slices. Usually, it was served as a sort of loaf, but you had a different idea this time… Another excuse. Another lie.

Three sharp knocks sounded at his door in rhythm, the same as the first time. You had a strong sense of deja vu, stood out in the hallway at the neighbors house, still-warm treat in your hands wrapped under foil. Yet the smell of chocolate managed to slip between the gaps and take over your senses, spreading down the hallway that otherwise smelled of wet dog and marijuana. Would the situation play out exactly the same as it had the first time - with him getting snappy and telling you to leave him alone?

You didn’t hear anything from inside of his apartment, your heart rate picking up a little bit as you considered he was out. Unlike you, perhaps he HAD a social life and wasn’t currently restricted to work and his apartment. You had wanted to wait until the evening to make sure that you avoided waking him up - you didn’t consider that he might be actually employed and at work. You could always come back later in the night but the chocolatine would go cold in that case. Still good, but the chocolate wouldn't melt and spread over your taste buds like it did when it was oven fresh. 

The door creaked ajar, Peter slouched gazing down at you with his tired mocha eyes. He rubbed one of them with a yawn. He was shirtless, only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants - they weren't as stained and disgusting-looking at the pair you had noticed from yesterday. You felt your eyes scanning over his frame, noting the mess of hair, his sleepy expression, and his broad shoulders… His arms were pretty muscular, which caught you off guard. 

“Hey, Scout.” He hummed after his rude yawn, offering you a half-smile. “What’cha got there, huh? Smells pretty good.” Raising his eyebrows, leaning forward in an attempt to catch a sneak peek at the treat through any gaps in the foil you may have left. You smiled a little at his eagerness, stifling a giggle. 

“Oh, I was baking and I made too much. Trying out a new recipe and I made double the amount I needed.” You lied through your teeth, keeping your expression the same. You hated lying, you hated the way it made your heart speed up. 

“Is that so?” He questioned back, a smirk playing on his lips. Did he know you were lying? That was impossible, he couldn't know. There was no way he could be able to tell! You did hate lying, but you were pretty good at it when it came to small things. He stepped aside to allow you into his apartment, which had been cleaned up a little since your first meeting with him. No empty pizza boxes, no half-empty beer bottles, and no condom packets littering the coffee table. You were thankful he had removed the latter at the very least - you didn't want to think about what he got up to in his… free time. 

You shuffled past him awkwardly, hearing the door click shut behind you with some force, and set the pastries down on the kitchen side. You had barely lifted the foil before he was standing next to you on the other side of the plate, rubbing his hands together in childish excitement. This time, you couldn’t stop the giggle slipping out - it was a little amusing that he was so enamoured by your cookies that he was already lingering for something else. 

“A chocolatine.” You explained, watching him lick his lips, his hands resting together on the top of the kitchen counter, like he was waiting for permission to take a piece. You nodded your head towards the plate, signalling that it was all fine and dandy. You’d made them for him after all!

He was quick to pick the piece closest to his side of the pate, holding it gently with his other hand cupped underneath it to catch any crumbs as he took the first bite. From his expression as he chewed, you could see that it was winning him over. A hum of enjoyment left his throat as he gulped it down and he went in for a second bite. He must really be enjoying it - the pieces were cut fairly chunky, and he had nearly finished it in a mere two bites that took him seconds to chew. He popped the last curve into his mouth, wiping his hands together to rid themselves of the crumbly pastry - bringing them straight up to his mouth as soon as he’d swallowed it down. It was an awful habit he’d had since he was a child. 

“Slow down!” You joked, glad to see that your efforts hadn’t gone to waste.

“Scout,” he spoke over his fingers, lowering them to wipe off on his sweatpants. “You bake like my Aunt May.” 

You had no idea who his Aunt May was, only that it was more than likely meant as a compliment. From his reaction, eyes practically rolling back, you assumed you’d done a good job and took it as an honour to be compared to a family member who probably had much more experience than you did.

“I see! Do you see her often? Does she like to bake too?” You pressed on, trying to take some interest in his life as he had previously done with you.

“Oh, she’s dead.” Peter commented back flatly, the conversation falling stone-cold silent. You stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open, not exactly knowing what to say to the sudden comment. He cut you off before you could apologise or offer your condolences. “What did you say this was again? Chocolate-y?” 

“Uh, chocolatine.” You corrected, trying to regain your composure after the little outburst and awkward silence. He nodded at you, already helping himself to a second piece. You watched as he devoured it like he had the first, having the same reaction - you had made the right choice by taking them to him nice and warm, it was worth it to see the way his face lit up at every bite. Assuming he lived alone and the amount of pizza boxes you had seen the first time you’d met, you doubted anyone had cooked for him like this in a long time. Or recently. Perhaps he just really liked fast food. 

He pushed the plate towards you with his knuckle, eyeing your face up and down. It seemed a half-hearted offer and you didn't doubt that given the chance he would have eaten the entire plate to himself. However, you had slaved away making these as perfect as you could - you were going to try at least one. You picked one from the top of the pile, biting down. It was just the right amount of crumbly pastry and creamy, melted chocolate caked between the crisp layers. You let out a hum yourself, understanding his first reaction entirely. It was perfect. 

You watched him as his eyes trailed down your body, taking in the sight of the puff-sleeves sundress with buttons down the front. It was in no way the weather for a dress in New York, but he didn’t seem to be complaining about the way it held your curves loosely, your legs exposed down until your white frilly socks and brogues. Was he checking you out? You felt your face flush, he had made no effort to hide it. 

“So how was work yesterday?” He questioned, having finally decided on going in for that third piece. You were caught off guard by the question, blinking at his face a few times before it processed. 

“Oh, uh…” You tried to think of how to phrase it. Work itself wasn’t at all the issue, it was what had happened after work that had taken you aback… Taking it as though you didn’t feel up to talk about it, he frowned, and decided to change the subject.

“Yeah… Work can suck, right? I work for myself right now.” Peter mentioned, watching your expression for any sign of interest. “I used to work with Spider-Man.”

You looked up at him, pastry held to your mouth with your teeth sinking into it. His words hit you as another wave of chocolate hit your tongue. You chewed, watching his smug expression - was it meant to be some kind of flex that he used to know Spider-Man? You doubted it. You couldn't imagine how many guys played the whole ‘I know Spider-Man’ card to woo a pretty girl.

“Wow, I didn’t picture you as a sidekick.” You joked, rolling your eyes playfully, alluding to the fact he was lying. 

“No really, I work for the Daily Bugle. I used to take pictures of him.” He continued, watching your smug expression fall as it dawned on you that he was likely telling you the truth. He couldn’t help but wonder how you’d look at him if he revealed you were standing in the same room as him right now. You momentarily forgot all about the night before, Peter’s company was enough to push it right out of your head. That, and learning that he knew the very vigilante that had rescued you last night. Your heart jumped a little - your neighbor knew Spider-Man! That had to have been the coolest thing right about now. Not much of anything interesting had happened like you had hoped since you moved to New York. Some would argue that it was a good thing. “What’s the face for, huh? You ain’t got a thing for him, have you?” Peter joked, a grin playing on his face. 

You protested but it was hard to lie to him when your face was getting red. It wasn’t a “thing” per-say, more of a celebrity crush. Someone to look up to… and being saved by him had only dumped gasoline on that fire, reigniting your love for the hero, one you’d felt once as a teen. It made you feel stupid. You’d interacted with him ONCE and already you felt like some stupid lovesick puppy. 

The brunette made his way to the refrigerator in the kitchen as you protested and explained that you simply admired him and the way he took care of the citizens in New York, but Peter had seemingly stopped listening as he knocked the cap off of a beer with his thumb. It looked like it had taken him no effort at all. He turned to face you, eyebrows raised and tipping the golden bottle slightly. You shook your head… Perhaps some other time. You were in no way opposed to a few drinks, but drinking seemed to open up your floodgates - and make you incredibly needy. With the current state of affairs, staying sober and clear minded was the best option. He shrugged you off, taking a healthy drink of the liquid, motioning for you to follow him into the living room.

The front room was more bare than yours - he had only a TV, a couch and a coffee table. The coffee table came with the apartment, you had found one in your room too. You blinked at the lack of decoration, save for a half-filled box with clothes spilling over the edges stuffed in the corner. 

“Well, since you’re already here, may as well enjoy these over a movie, eh?” He suggested as you plopped yourself on the other end of the couch, pulling your legs up to get comfortable. “Any suggestions?” 

You wracked your brain, trying to think of ANY movie that wasn’t a cheesy romance. Hey, as an English Literature student, it was practically part of the job description to be a romantic! 

“What about Aladdin?” You suggested, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at you for still finding comfort in cartoons. 

“Gross!” He turned to you with a questionable look on his face. “Disney movies aren’t really my thing. They’re all.. Love-dovey, right? Yeah, I used to watch them with-” He cut himself short before he could finish his sentence, which caught your interest. It was quiet for a minute as he turned away from you and focused on the TV screen, turning it on and flicking through the channels.

“Love is a lie and a scam.”

You felt yourself starting to laugh, the comment catching you out. He blinked at you again with a scowl, not understanding what was so funny.

“You’re such a grouch!” You let out through laughs. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth like he was going to laugh too. 

“No I’m not! Hey, shut it. Love is a lie, Kid. Don’t fall for it. Disney movies aren’t anything like reality, you know.” He shot back, pointing at you with the hand that held his chilled beer. It was almost empty now, and it had clearly worked his magic. He didn’t seem drunk, he just seemed to have loosened up a little, slouching back on his couch, aimlessly flickering through the channels on TV. It was quiet once again… You turned away to face the TV too, though you caught him sneaking glances at you from the corner of his eye. You only knew because you were doing the same. “Your wrists look better today. Looked sore last night. Speaking of… Mind me asking what had mascara dripping down your face?” Finally the question came, drinking down the last of his beer. 

“Oh…” You trailed off, trying to collect your thoughts and sift through the information you wanted to tell him. “Well, it wasn’t because of work. I work in a really bad area and I decided to take a short cut on my way home because I was cold and stupid and forgot my jacket at home.” 

He listened closely, never once interrupting your story. Part of him was curious as to WHY you had gone down that alley last night, why that was where he had found you, and this was providing the answers to some of his questions.

“This guy from the bar must have followed me. And he… he grabbed me. And he tried to make me do stuff.” You cut it short, sitting in silence as you tried to keep yourself together. Talking about this was harder than you had expected, and you didn’t at all feel any better after telling Peter about it. Maybe because he was so quiet, letting you breathe… “But I was really lucky. Spider-Man saved me.”

He gave a scoff. “Spidey came off of hiatus huh? Lucky. I haven’t seen that guy around for a week or two now. Usually he draws the heck out of situations.” 

You felt a pang of anger hit you right in the stomach at his words, not having noticed he had actually brought two beers into the living room when you went to sit down, and was now lapping up the contents of the second glass bottle.

“Hey.” You snapped at him. “He probably has a life too, you know. So many people forget that he’s just some guy in a suit, let him breathe! He can’t be there all the time. Maybe he’s going through shit of his own, huh?” You couldn’t stop yourself. “Like, a loss, or, or--”

“Or a divorce, maybe.” Peter joked quietly, swigging the bottle once more. You just had a lot of emotions, and if Spider-Man wasn’t there yesterday, then… You gave a sniffle, catching Peter’s attention once more. Oh dear God, not again.. “Hey, hey. I didn’t.. EXACTLY mean to berate the poor guy. Alright? I was just kidding, Scout.” He soothed, his tone now much softer. He leaned forward to put his beer down on the coffee table. 

“I’m not crying because of that!” You felt yourself snap once again. The brunette didn’t wince, or have much of a reaction at all to your anger. “I just- If he wasn’t there yesterday, I could have ended up dead! I wouldn’t have even had anyone to call because my family are all in another state! I had to leave my home, my friends- I don’t have anyone!” 

Turns out, you didn’t need a beer tonight for the aforementioned floodgates to burst open. Apparently emotional build-up and talking about your raw trauma, confiding in him about how lonely you felt was enough. 

“Shh.” Peter soothed quietly as you broke down into ugly sobs, your face retreating into your hands. He shuffled to your side of the couch, pulling your quivering body into his side. He felt warm and even though he looked like a bit of a slob, he smelled of cologne and fresh laundry. It was comforting to be held like this. It wasn’t forceful at all, nor did it seem like he was using your sadness to get into your pants. It just seemed like… he knew what it was like to lose everyone. To have no one, and he didn’t like seeing pretty girls cry. He had wanted to give you a hug last night, but with the state you were in, it didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“I’m here for you.” He said, voice firm. “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

You cried into his chest for a good hour or so, just so thankful to feel some affection after the hard few days. You just wanted to let go of the wheels for a while and let someone else drive. Despite your long sleep, you’d passed out then and there. You were so mentally drained, you hadn't noticed how tired you were. 

Peter didn’t mind at all - it wasn't like he had anything better to do. What better way to spend a Tuesday night than comforting a pretty girl?


	4. Chapter four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After falling asleep on Peter, he wonders how you feel about him. Someone from his past attempts to get back in contact with him, however their motives are unclear and it makes you a little jealous!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while, the Christmas period was way too hectic for me to focus enough to write. （（●´∧｀●）） But I managed to get this chapter together and I should be back to writing as normal now! I've settled on a solid plot for the story too... I'm real excited to write it, hehe! I hope you're all excited to read.
> 
> Also! I love the comments you guys are leaving, please continue to do so as it really motivates me!

Gentle kisses of warm yellow light filtering in through the small gaps in the curtains was all it took to wake you — being a light sleeper and still not completely used to your new surroundings. A small groan left your lips as you stretched your arms up above your head, arching your back off of the rather comfortable bed. You had no clue how you’d gotten into your room last night… In fact, you couldn’t remember anything after breaking down in front of Peter, save for the comforting feeling of his calloused fingers tangling in your soft hair and scratching gently at your scalp. Had he carried you in here and tucked you up in bed? An odd feeling rose in your chest, like a swarm of butterflies were about to jump right out of your gut. You were quick to chase them away, shaking your head as a blush formed on your cheeks. 

No, it was way too soon to be crushing on your stupidly attractive neighbour. It probably wasn’t even a crush! Maybe it was the considerate gestures that appeased you, rather than the man himself.

You pushed the sheets from your torso, somewhat thankful that you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes and that he hadn’t gone to the extra effort of undressing you to put you in something sleep appropriate. You hadn’t felt him carrying you in here, so you figured you must have fallen asleep pretty hard on his chest while he moved between rubbing slow circles into your back and playing with your soft strands of hair. How long had he left you there to sleep on him? You tried to shake the thought of him allowing you to lay there for a while out of your head, the butterflies returning with a vengeance. You ran a hand through your bedhead, swinging your legs over and pressing your feet down onto the cold vinyl of the apartment floor. You noticed something on your dresser — a little note?

_“Hey Scout,_

_Had to rush to work pretty early so I put you to bed. I hope you feel better today and remember that I’m right across the hall if you ever need me._

_P.S, You sleep like the dead!_

_P. P”_

An unattractive snort forced its way from the back of your throat— his initials were “PP”! Finally an adult and you still couldn’t stop yourself from finding something so silly amusing. It was hard to tell whether it was the childish joke that had gotten to you, or if you felt so high due to the fact the burning pit of loneliness in your chest was shrinking each day because of a certain Mister Parker. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop thinking about the calming sound of his heartbeat as you had lay semi-conscious on his chest.

\--------------------------

A shrill cry sounded through the afternoon air as Peter’s dark eyes settled on the moving target, weaving his way through the confused New York pedestrians who were trying to shelter themselves from fresh snow that had begun to cascade down from greying skies. Another day, another crime taking place right before his eyes — Honestly, it was like these guys wanted to be caught, like that he was the eyes and ear of the city spurred them on at this point. Of course, you had the clueless criminals that merely wanted cash and fame, then you had the top dogs that wanted to expand beyond thieving from convenience stores and mugging the elderly. Those who built huge machines, planned for world domination and mass genocide purely for the fun of it.

All evil has a starting point, no matter how petty the crime may be.

The wind was cold against the skin of his face, even though he was encased in his suit, eyes protected by misty glass panels that were somehow able to form expressions — like a cartoon. His feet hit the concrete with a thud, a poorly disguised thug stopping just before he collided with the very chest of Spider-Man. His face lit up with sheer horror as if he thought he could slip past the eyes of the vigilante. 

“What’s this?” The hero mused, using his self-developed web fluid to snatch the purse back from the scruffy looking man who’s fingers clung to the leathery fabric. Something had sparked within Peter recently. Before a certain female had moved in across the hall, he was debating on his worth as Spider-Man. What kind of hero hated his job? He was an idol to so many people of all ages, and he had grown to hate it… until seeing the way your face lit up, the way you had been so quick to defend his acts.

He was the only thing standing between the city and sheer chaos. Now was not the time for giving up.

A muffled, bitter laugh left Peter’s mouth as the theif began to aimlessly throw punches at the vigilante, each shot missing the spider hybrid with some distance. Spider-Man dodged them with little effort, his laughs continuing to sound before his strong calloused hands gripped the criminals, twisting it behind his back until he got him to his knees. He webbed him to the pavement below them, his wrists and ankles bound tight and uncomfortable with sticky web fluid. Spider-Man could feel the adrenaline pumping around his body.

It wasn’t long before the distant sound of police sirens drew in closer, cars screeching as they slammed on the brakes — his signal to leave. He shot a web to the nearest streetlight, using it to thrust himself off of the ground once more and sending himself soaring through the snowy skies of the city. He needed five minutes. He was getting older now, he couldn’t get into one fight after another without a little bit of a break. Three robberies had been stopped in the span of an hour and a half, his back was begging for him to sit down. 

Peter settled on his favourite spot, the mane and snout of the gargantuan lion head that protruded from the side of the Empire State Building. From here he could see the entire city, how Lady Liberty stood proud with her torch raised high above her head as she too watched over New York from the sea line. Another symbol of hope.

The vigilante gave in to his aching body, sitting on the tip of the lion’s nose with his legs dangling off of the tip of the beast and his back slumped. As cold as it was, he pulled his mask back to his forehead, taking a deep inhale of air. Up here it tasted much better, less like smoke, gas and greasy food. Until you’ve tasted the air above the city, out of the reach of humanity’s small daily pollutions, you wouldn't have any idea what you were missing. His deep brown eyes flickered shut, small blobs of snow gathering on his curled eyelashes. 

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

He felt his phone vibrate against the side of his leg, pulling him from his own moment of liberty — his heart dropped when he took in the sight of the redhead illuminating his screen. He remembered taking that exact picture, a Sunday morning walk they took in the park together. Even as MJ had gotten older with him, developing smile lines and losing the bounce she once had in her walk, Peter had always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. 

His thumb lingered over the green answer button, gulping hard though his mouth was dry due to the cold air, he felt a pang of guilt. He couldn’t… bring himself to answer his phone. What was wrong with him? A few months ago, he was the one leaving her drunk missed calls, sobbing into the phone speaker about how he loved and missed her. It was only in this moment that it occurred to him that he was losing those feelings. Seeing her now had brought him an odd sense of anxiety, rather than the unexplainable excitement he used to get upon seeing her face each time he crawled in through their bedroom window. Something about using a door, especially when she knew he was Spider-Man, just seemed so… boring. He could have never called her boring. Even when things began to get rocky.

The phone ceased is insistent buzzing after what felt like forever, returning to the default home screen of yellow and purple waves over a blue background. Since he had changed it from a picture of himself with MJ, he hadn’t even thought about changing it to anything else. 

Before he could ponder over his feelings anymore, an explosion followed by a series of screams broke out nearby, catching the attention of the masked vigilante. He tugged the mask down back over his face, noticing the black smoke rising up from a spot nearby. He gave a stretch, using his web shooter to transport himself to the scene of the disaster. 

Hours later, covered in sut and smelling like he hadn’t bathed in days, he crawled up the brick wall of his apartment building and rolled himself through the open window - which he should probably start keeping closed, since it meant his apartment was now going to be freezing cold for the rest of the night. There was even a wet patch under it where the blobs of snow had drifted in with the winter chill, melting once they settled on his carpet.

As much as his backaches and his burning eyes nagged at him to rest, his night isn't over just yet - only this time, Spider-Man wasn’t going to be the hero… it would be plain old Peter B. Parker, the photographer. He shuffled around his apartment, stepping out of the suit and disregarding it to the floor. He didn’t wear much underneath, it would get too warm. He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror, the door creaked open enough just for him to see his figure in the dim light and winced — He hadn’t noticed his weight gain until now. Or he had but he was in heavy denial. He stepped into the bathroom, flicking the switch and turning left and right in the view of the mirror while the shower heated up. It was hard to focus on his body image when he could smell himself after a day of running around in his suit. He definitely needed a shower.

He stepped in, relaxing as the moderately warm water washed over his body, soothing his sore muscles. After a good deal of scrubbing at himself, he could see the water, slow to drain, becoming a dark grey as it pooled at his feet, soap suds gathering on the water's surface. He would like to think that it was from momentarily taking his mask off in the fire to get a bit of a better look around, but he couldn't guarantee that most of it wasnt dirt that he’d just collected from neglecting to wash the suit properly. 

He’d definitely have to do something about that later, but right now he didn't have time. Of course not, he already knew what time your workplace closed thanks to a mere google search, and judging by the time he had caught you leaving yesterday, you worked closing shifts. 

Peter made a little bit more of an effort to dress in something other than sweatpants this time, grumbling as he fastened the button on his pants. He scrubbed up pretty well, or so he thought given that he didn't have much time to get ready after spending the entire day saving the innocent. 

The winter was even harsher at night, nipping at the exposed flesh of his face and nibbling on his fingers before they delved into the trash filled pockets of his green trench coat. It was mostly old receipts, gum wrappers and pocket lint. He could probably do with giving maintenance a call to get the washing machine fixed, he was running out of clothes and surely wearing the same three pairs of sweatpants without washing them wasn't a great idea if he planned on impressing you at all. His head was tilted down, watching his brown boots scuff the snow-covered ground as he allowed his mind to wander back to you, how small you looked when you slept on his chest. There was a supermarket nearby… Would buying you flowers be too forward of a move? Hesitating, his brisk walk slowed to a snail's pace, slow enough for him to notice the sound of freshly fallen snow crunching under his heavy work boots. 

No, that was definitely too forward. Besides, what if you thought he was some creep for letting you fall asleep on him last night? He hadn’t seen you since he’d put you to bed, so he wasn't sure how you felt about the situation as a whole… or about him. 

Standing at 6’2, mostly all legs, it didn’t take long for him to arrive at your workplace — a small pub he’d visited once or twice when he moved into the area. He had visited it alone to get absolutely wasted. Enough to forget about the aching hole that was consuming him at the time… he cringed a little at the memory of needing to be helped up the very stairs he was now skipping down, the smell of alcohol taking over his senses that were beginning to tingle. A grey radiated from a few silent staff members that cleaned half-full beer bottles and frothy glasses from crumb-covered tables. The male took a seat at the bar, leaning forward on his arms like a teenager who was about to try their first alcoholic beverage and flashed a charming smile to the blonde barmaid. 

\--------------------------

Amelia had noticed your change in attitude, the way you practically sang a greeting to her when you got into the break room. A knowing smile creeped onto her lipstick covered lips as she watched you hang up your coat, cocking an eyebrow as you squeezed past her to take orders from the old patrons at the bar. Even though they snapped their orders at you like it was their oxygen, you were in a pretty good mood. 

As your shift went on, you explained to your friend what had happened, including how you were saved by Spider-Man and how you had fallen asleep on your neighbour. As silly as you felt, you also confided that you suspected you were growing to have a crush on him. She played along, reacting to every detail, begging like a puppy for more. 

“Your life is like a soap opera!” She commented with a laugh, mopping up the sticky remains of some old man's spilled booze, the result of him trying to carry one too many glasses at once. You felt yourself recoil in slight embarrassment, unsure if you were babbling on too much about the eventful past few days you had come to endure. If you were someone else, you doubted you would believe it either. However, the perky blonde didn’t seem to suspect that you were lying, and if she did she was hiding it very well. 

“Where’s our drinks?!” Someone called at the pair of you. “Stood there chatting while we’re still waiting! We spend good money here! Our tables are full of empty glasses too! No doubt that’ll be added to OUR bill when someone knocks them over.” 

You both exchanged a look of disgust, playfully rolling your eyes at the drunken outburst of rage from the elderly man. You took a tray with you to gather up the glasses that were now scattered and knocked over two tables, carrying them into the back with a steady hand to wash them. Luckily you had a pretty big machine that dried them all off, so you were quick to pile them back onto a crate and carry them to the front of the bar — where you could hear Amelia giggling away as some guy sat directly in front of her. She had been the one to mention to you that flirting and chatting was the best way to get some worthwhile tips, especially since some of these men came in alone in hopes of nothing more than a good chat. Others… came in looking for something else.

You felt your body tense up, flushing with heat as your large eyes settled on Peter, presenting a poorly made napkin hat to Amelia, who batted her eyes and flipped her hair over her shoulder like he had just presented her a diamond ring. 

“It’s better with actual paper but you get the idea.” He responded, flicking it across the bar at her, arriving at her stomach in a soggy, alcohol covered manner. His tired brown eyes flickered to you, a smirk creeping onto his mouth. 

“Hey, Scout.”

You faltered for a moment, looking between the two who were pretty close considering there was a chunk of wood pressed between their bodies. You forced a smile, glad that the dim yellowish light probably hid your blush. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, setting down the crate of glasses, picking one up in each hand and moving around Amelia to put them in their respective cabinets. His eyes followed you as Amelia rambled in the background, though you tried not to notice even if the attention flattered you and only made your blush spread further over the rest of your poor face. 

“I came to pick you up. You had trouble the other night, right?” He explained, still leaning close over the counter.

Amelia’s eyes flickered to you, then back to him — her smile only grew wider, silently asking you if this was the neighbour you suspected you had a growing crush on. You met her eyes, but quickly looked away and tried to focus only on putting the glasses in their correct places. Both of them staring at you was making it a little hard to focus… 

“So, continue.” Amelia prompted, gently prodding a finger at one of his arms resting on the bar. He let out a gravelly chuckle at her impatience, the way she hung onto his words. Having this much female attention was quite flattering for him, it wasn’t something he had experienced in a while. Peter continued on with his silly little story, telling Amelia all about his degree in chemical engineering while she “ooh’d” and “ah'd” at him like he was the smartest man alive. Listening in to the conversation the best you could over the clanking of the glasses and the increased talking volume of the men behind the bar trying to get in on the conversation, though the two seemed locked together in dialogue. A pang of jealousy strung in your gut as you listened to the artificial giggles slipping through your co-workers pretty plump lips. You tried your best to bury the feeling, but it was getting too much. 

Your shift couldn't have ended sooner, each moment feeling like an eternity while Peter became a tad more chatty after a drink or two - how many, you didn’t know, since Amelia had insisted on making him a “special” mix. Upon tasting it he winced and spluttered that she’d made it strong, though he kept sipping at it through the rest of your shift. He didn’t seem drunk… just a tad more talkative. 

“Peter.” You shot at him, interrupting whatever it was they were talking about now. “We’re closing now, why don’t you wait outside for me?” You suggested, though it sounded more like a command. You wanted to recoil at the stern tone you had given him, though his smile never left his mouth as he reached for his wallet, passing a few dollar bills to “Lia”, a nickname he had given her. She counted the note out to the right amount, then thanked him for the tip. How much he had tipped her you had no idea, you had turned your back to go and get the keys from the office, but the fact he had tipped her at all drove you up the wall. He had come to pick you up yet had spent all night ignoring you for your co-worker? 

You felt bitter and stiff after he had left, leaving the two of you alone to cash up while a few other staff members worked around you. You rushed through it, counting as fast as you could so you could leave. The notes slipped between your fingers with speed as you mentally counted each one, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“He seems real nice.” Amelia mused to you, still counting a stack of tens. “Cute too, I can see the attraction.” 

You dared not answer in fear of snapping at her - the last thing you wanted was to argue with your only other friend over a boy. You slipped the notes back into the register, wrote down the amount and ran out through the back kitchen door. The scruffy brunette leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, giving you that heartthrob smile when you burst out into the settled snow. 

“Let’s go.” You snapped at him, noticing the slight drop in his smile before following behind you, though catching up to your pace with ease. It was tense, the air was thick and heavy, your chest was tight. Even though you’d brought a jacket with you, it wasn't doing much to battle the cold night air that turned each exhale into a puff of smoke, like you were some kind of dragon. 

He tried hard to make conversation with you, asking you about your shift and if you liked the people you worked with… Each question was met with a bitter answer, not leaving much room for him to explore the topic further. It fell silent as he gave up attempting to converse with you, inwardly assuming he had done wrong by coming to pick you up. Good thing he hadn't brought you flowers. 

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

Peter’s heart stopped dead between his ribs as the phone began to ring once more, this time in his pocket. Pulling the cell from his coat, he stared down solemnly at the all too familiar face lighting up the air around his phone with a red and orange glow. You noticed the way he looked at the picture, the name “MJ” under it in bold text. He’d mentioned that name before… 

Why was his ex wife calling him?

He made no effort to answer the phone, his pace slowing as he let the device buzz in his palm. You slowed to match his pace this time, looking at his expression… You felt a little guilty for being so stubborn and rude. 

“Are you going to get that?” You commented, right before the buzzing stopped. He wasted no time in putting it back into the same pocket, the trancelike state he was in broken the second her face faded from his screen. His actions answered your questions in a way you were sure his words couldn't. Jealousy ached in the pit of your stomach as your mind ran wild as to why she could be calling him this late, but you didn't want to press.

“We got divorced seven months ago.” He commented bluntly, as if able to sense your jealousy rising. You gulped, side-eyeing him. Your neighbour wore no expression, simply staring forward as far as he could see into the dark New York streets. 

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.” You repeated his kind offer back to him, his side-eye catching yours as he let out a small, breathy laugh. 

“Thanks, Scout. I guess I’m not… entirely over the whole thing is all, and I have no idea what she wants. She was there for me through a lot, we buried my Aunt May together.” He rambled, once again looking dead ahead. “I wasn't the best husband to her, I wasn't really… there for her. She wanted a family and…” 

He trailed off. 

“It’s okay.” You tried to reassure. You had a feeling your words wouldn't help at all, but sometimes hearing that its going to be okay, even if you know it won't be, makes it hurt a little less. 

You two continued your journey back to your apartment building, which probably wasn't much safer (or warmer) than being outside on the streets, but you were looking forward to a long, hot shower when you got in. 

“I mean, at least there’s still hope for you, right? I’m sure plenty of girls are interested in you. I’m sure Amelia-” You stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, not realising how bitter you sounded until her name had left your lips as if it held a horrible taste. The guilt overtook the jealousy, relishing in the fact you’d just ruined a tender moment where he was trying to confide in you with your jealousy. 

Peter’s vacant expression lit up with that smirk once more, his teeth showing through his smile. “You aren’t jealous, are you?” He reached over to push your shoulder playfully, gentle as ever. You snorted at the comment but you felt your heart speed up in your body, hammering your ribcage.

“Jealous?!” You retorted, a little too quickly for it to seem natural. 

“Yeah, jealous.” The male repeated, his tone low and challenging. 

You weren't sure how to respond to that. Your shoes were now scraping concrete as you reached the stupidly bright lobby of your block, highlighting the red on your face you hoped would play off as just being cold. 

“I guess.” You hummed, craning your neck to look up at him. “What of it?” You asked, watching his expression. You had barely noticed your little cold hand snaking to tug at the zip of his coat until he was leaning down to your height, the warmth of his alcohol scented breath hitting your face. Your own lips parted to ask what he was doing, but all that came out was a small huff as he closed the space between your bodies, his warm lips melting against yours. His stubble pricked your chin ever so slightly, but you didn’t care, you tugged eagerly at his coat, on your tiptoes to get as close as you could to the man you didn't even want to look at less than an hour ago. You felt his large, calloused hand rest at your waist, his fingertips moulding your flesh through your shirt. 

It ended all too quick, his head tilted to look behind himself at the doors you had just walked through. You were stood, weak at the knees and panting, taken aback by the sudden progression in your relationship - though you were not at all complaining. 

“I have to go do something.” He mumbled against your mouth, pressing a small peck to your lips before returning to his height. “And you don’t need to be jealous, Scout.” He winked.

“A-Alright-” You stuttered, left alone and shocked in the lobby as your eyes followed his figure returning back into the cold winter night.


End file.
